


and you said Kiss me.

by erebones



Series: King's Gambit Verse [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (a little bit), Birthday, Business Trip, Dessert & Sweets, Established Relationship, Family Planning, Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Multiple Orgasms, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Penis In Vagina Sex, Phone Sex, Squirting, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Claude von Riegan, Trans Male Character, background ferdibert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: A last-minute business trip calls Claude away from the birthday-slash-wedding anniversary trip he'd planned with Lorenz, but he's determined to make it up to him.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Series: King's Gambit Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787602
Comments: 5
Kudos: 115





	and you said Kiss me.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday not only to Lorenz, but to my dear Kae (@kaeos_theory), who is the most amazing Lorenz ever and one of my favorite people! Congrats on the BIRTH!!!
> 
> This takes place in the King's Gambit universe, but you could probably get away with not reading it first (but like, go read it first). CW's etc: Claude is a trans man, I use cock and labia to describe his bits. There are references to him packing and having an IUD, as well as having an interest in starting a family with Lorenz (not specifically biological, but it's implied).

_We were in the gold room where everyone_

_finally gets what they want, so I said What do you_

_want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me._

-Richard Siken

[

From: LHGloucester@mail.derdriu

To: ClaudeVRiegan@roundtable.fl

Subject: Re: Birthday Trip

Body:

Dearest husband,

you are too conscientious for your own good sometimes. I knew when I married you that the realities of your position would sometimes make our personal lives inconvenient. It was even part of my vows, if you recall. _In sickness and in health, and in emergency budget meetings four nights a week._

Before you wither away from guilt, please recall that Ignatz and Marianne have organized a diverting evening’s entertainment to keep me occupied until you come home. Our getaway plans will wait. The bed and breakfast was quite happy to reschedule, and our vacation will be just as nice two weeks later. The important thing is that you are well-rested after your trip. I feel just terrible about the jet lag.

Please call me when you’re free? It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since I last heard your voice. (I would also like to discuss that _thing_ you mentioned off-hand before getting on a plane to Enbarr, if you’re amenable.)

I love you. Do say hello to Ferdinand for me, won’t you?

Yours, LHG

]

Claude skims through the email with his pointer finger, smiling behind his hand where it props up the weight of his chin. Jet lag, indeed. Despite the delicate little porcelain cup of Adrestia’s finest espresso perched at his elbow, the weight of a five-hour time difference drags at his eyelid, threatening to slam them shut against the drone of the Adrestian Minister for… what was it again? Internal Revenue? Some splinter of the Treasury Board, he’s pretty sure, given the poorly-assembled powerpoint slide of last year’s import-export ratios of artisanal goods.

He glances across the conference hall to the head table. Ferdinand is putting up a pretty good front, but even he looks mildly bored, as evidenced by the constant flicker of his eyes towards the Minister of the Imperial Household’s empty seat. Today’s talks don’t necessitate von Vestra’s attendance, as his interests lie a little closer to home. Frankly, Claude misses his acerbic wit. The first two days had been a great deal more interesting with his brooding presence affixed to the Prime Minister’s left hand.

He surreptitiously types out a text— _got your email, I’ll call in an hour xoxo_ —and tries to focus on the topic at hand, and not the ache of regret in his heart. This wasn’t the plan. He isn’t the Roundtable’s official international liaison, but the man had come down with some kind of nasty stomach bug at the last minute and so here he was, struggling to stay awake in a room full of officials and representatives from four different nations with interests in Adrestian economic reform.

The topic had been a core component of his own platform five years ago when he was first elected to the Roundtable, and continues to be one of the driving factors of his work in Derdriu, but he’s finding it difficult to follow along today. Too weighed down with exhaustion and a little bit of guilt. He’d had to cancel Lorenz’s birthday-slash-anniversary trip for _this_.

He twists the wedding ring on his finger in an effort to stay awake. Four years and eleven months of marriage, and sometimes it still feels brand new. As though he’s stumbling along blindly trying to balance a hundred little things, watching the most precious parts slip through when he fails to maintain harmony between them.

_I’ll be here. Love you. Don’t fall asleep, Ferdie will tell me if you do._

Claude bites his lip and turns his phone face-down, warm inside. He’ll never get tired of his husband’s chastizements. Once upon a time they’d grated on him, but now he sees them for what they are: Lorenz showing him he cares.

Despite his best efforts, his mind wanders back to the last time he saw his husband. After a late night spent packing in a flurry, he’d awoken at the crack of dawn to the smell of coffee—Almyran style—and a gentle hand in his hair coaxing him from sleep.

“Mm. You’re my favorite alarm clock.”

Lorenz kissed him despite the morning breath, and handed him the cup. “I do my best. You have ten minutes before you need to get in the shower, so drink your coffee and eat your toast.”

“Will you pet my hair while I do?” Claude wheedled.

“If it will help.” Lorenz settled in bed next to him, already dressed in his weekend wear: soft leggings, a light off-the-shoulder shirt, his hair braided and pulled to the front to show off the diamond glittering in one ear. He combed long, manicured fingers through Claude’s unruly bedhead and smiled when he groaned and leaned into it.

“You would be an amazing mom,” Claude said, apropos of nothing. Lorenz’s hand stilled. “Er. That wasn’t weird to say, was it?”

In his defense, Claude thinks, he’d just woken up. He doesn’t have much of a filter first thing in the morning. And in his defense, they’d just spent a few days doing some work in local elementary schools, where he’d gotten a full and comprehensive view of just how good Lorenz was with kids. For some reason, though Lorenz could easily cow a grown man with one scathing look, children adored his proper mannerisms and the way he spoke to them like adults, asking them questions and learning about their interests. Claude loves kids, considers himself relatively good at getting on their level, but Lorenz’s affinity had been a pleasant surprise.

Lorenz assured him it wasn’t weird, but Claude could feel the weight of his surprise as it turned into thoughtful consideration. Even as they were bidding one another farewell in the airport, Lorenz’s eyes were bright with a new awareness, a subtle scrutiny that hadn’t been there before.

_Almost five years of marriage is a decent time to start thinking about kids, right?_

_I’m your bodyguard_ , Hilda texts back almost right away—impressive, considering she’s supposed to be in the back keeping an eye on everything at once, _not your mother. Or your sister._

_You’re kind of my sister, though, a little bit._

_Sweet of you._

She doesn’t answer the question. Claude massages the bridge of his nose and tries to focus on the presentation.

><

Lorenz is laying on the couch, not paying attention to the television, when his phone lights up. _Claude von Riegan_. He scrambles for the remote and answers the phone as his thumb mashes the mute button.

“Hello,” he says, trying and failing to modulate his excitement. On the other end, Claude laughs softly, the timbre of it lifting the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Hello, baby. What time is it there, what are you up to?”

“It’s eleven oh three, as you well know,” Lorenz says, smiling at an empty room as he curls up with a pillow to his chest in lieu of an embrace. “And I’m just watching some TV.”

“Anything good on?”

“Not really.”

“Right. So you’re just pretending not to fall asleep on the couch, then,” Claude teases.

“Yes, all right, smartass. And what are _you_ doing, now that you’re free from listening to von Markus extrapolate on the export of Adrestian wool?”

“Ugh. You’re joking, but you’re not far off.” He heaves a sigh that crackles down the line, and Lorenz turns onto his side and switches to speakerphone as he lays his phone on the couch beside him. “I just got back to my suite actually. It’s so fucking big, I feel like a little nut rattling around in its shell.”

“I got the pictures you sent. It looks beautiful.”

“They call it the _green room_ but there isn’t really a lot of green. I think it might have had some renovations since the olden days.” There’s a bit of a pause, and Lorenz can hear the rustle and snap of a tie being removed, the relieved sigh as the top few buttons of a shirt are undone. Sounds he’s intimately familiar with. He massages the little ache of loneliness in his breast and tries to picture what he hears.

“What did you wear today?” he asks, to flesh out the fantasy. He doesn’t even think of the potential interpretation of the question until Claude laughs in his ear.

“Ooh, is that what we’re doing? Let’s see. I wore a navy suit, the Gresche one, with the floral silk lining. And the yellow waistcoat with the blue embroidery and the lapis buttons.”

“Very nice,” Lorenz approves, ignoring—for now—his husband’s teasing. “Braces?”

“Not today, but maybe I should have. They were kind of pinching me yesterday. Keeping me awake, most likely.”

“Tie?”

“Navy blue, gold crescent moon pin, the one you got me for my birthday last year.” Claude laughs, though whether at himself or at his husband Lorenz isn’t sure. “So detail-oriented! This getting you off, sweetheart?”

Lorenz tsks. “Claude! I am simply asking to form a mental picture.”

“Right, right. So you can peel that mental picture out of his clothes, right?” When Lorenz doesn’t audibly laugh, choosing to bite down on his grin instead, Claude coughs. “Er, sorry. Too much?”

“No! No, it’s all right. I just didn’t call expecting…” Lorenz trails off, unsure. Just because he hadn’t been expecting a long-distance booty call doesn’t mean he isn’t keen. “You must be tired,” he follows up lamely.

“Yeah. Tired of sleeping alone.” Claude clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wanna facetime instead? I’d like to see you.”

Lorenz’s hand flies to his face, poking the half-dried avocado mask currently smeared over his skin. “Yes, of course. Just… give me five minutes?”

“Sure thing.”

They hang up, and Lorenz flees upstairs to the master ensuite, washing off the mask and doing his skincare routine in record time. His face is a bit pink and dewy when his phone buzzes on the counter, but it’ll have to do. He snatches it up and retreats to the bedroom, answering his husband’s call.

“There you are,” Claude greets him, eyes soft green and crinkled at the edges. He looks so tired, but his smile is wide and inviting, and his shirt is unbuttoned even further than Lorenz had realized, so Lorenz refrains from chiding him to get some rest. “Hello beautiful.”

Lorenz smiles and settles back against the pillows. “Hello again. You haven’t finished dressing for bed, I see.”

“Yeah, well, you were so interested in what I was wearing I thought you’d like to watch.” Claude winks, and this time there’s no uncertainty—he can clearly see the blush that crawls up Lorenz’s neck, the way his eyes darken with interest. “Let’s see, where can I… oh, perfect.”

Claude’s hair briefly swings in front of the camera, and then Lorenz is treated to a closeup of his eyebrows, frowning and intent before he steps away, leaving his phone propped somewhere safe. From this distance, Lorenz can see he’s still wearing his belt and trousers and shirt, half-open down the front, with his waistcoat unbuttoned but still slung around his shoulders. Lorenz chews his lip, watching avidly as he shrugs out of it, hanging it carefully on the back of the chair before moving to the rest of his shirt buttons.

He undresses slowly but without fuss, and somehow that practicality is more erotic than any overdone striptease would have been. Lorenz bites his lip and squeezes his thighs together, watching closely as Claude pulls his shirt out of his trousers and drops it to the floor. He stretches his arms over his head, ostensibly to work out the kinks from sitting in meetings all day, and Lorenz catches his breath at the flex of muscle under skin, at the dark hair under his arms and across his chest.

“Long day,” Claude mumbles, or something like it—the phone is just a touch too far to get clear audio. He drops his arms, massaging the back of his neck with one hand, the other grazing his belt. He pulls the end free of the buckle, fingers perfunctory against smooth leather. Lorenz remembers the butter-soft feel of that leather around his wrists a few weeks ago and his toes curl in the sheets. One of these days he’ll work up the courage to ask for rougher handling. And in the meantime, he can just enjoy this: Claude’s capable hands slipping the belt free and plucking upon the button on his trousers, easing inside to dislodge his packer and toss it out of frame. His fly opens tooth by tooth, and then his trousers slump to the ground, leaving Claude to kick free of them and tickle the waistband of his boxer briefs with a gleam in his eye.

Lorenz half-expects him to keep going, but instead he approaches the camera and picks up his phone, holding it to perfectly frame his chest along the bottom. Lorenz surreptitiously drags the miniature reflection of his own face up out of the way for a clearer view.

“Should I keep going?” Claude asks, grinning and up close.

“If you like.” Lorenz clears his throat. “I—I would like it, if you wanted to.”

“Wish I could take you into the shower with me,” Claude laments, “but maybe you can help me unwind some other way.” The camera blurs a bit as he pitches himself into bed, and then Lorenz has a lovely view: the same one he has when he lays on his belly between Claude’s legs, chin to Claude’s diaphragm as he kisses down his stomach to more interesting places.

“What do you need?” Lorenz asks. He feels a bit foolish—for all the times one or the other of them has traveled for work, or family, leaving the other behind, this sort of thing is still new to him. But he’s growing hard in his leggings, and he can feel his body flushing with heat as Claude gropes his own chest, one side and then the other, before sending his free hand down his body, past the cold eye of the camera lens.

“Talk to me,” Claude rasps. He leans his head back into the softness of the feather pillow, curls arrayed around his head like a crown of dark flowers. His shoulder flexes and he bites his lip, letting slip a little moan. “What are you wearing?”

“You can see what I’m wearing,” Lorenz points out, which isn’t exactly a sexy thing to say, but it gets a breathy laugh out of his husband, which is just as good.

“I can see _some_. What else?”

Lorenz spares a moment of regret that he hadn’t thought to put on something more interesting. Five minutes hadn’t given him much time to get pretty. “Just a loose shirt,” he says, angling his phone to capture more of his top half. Inspiration seizes him, and he tugs the hem down, showing off just _how_ loose the fabric is as the wide scoop-neck collar slips lower to expose a nipple. From the way Claude’s breath catches, it was the right move. Emboldened, he rises from the bed and flicks on the overhead light as he goes to stand in front of the mirror.

“So cozy,” Claude purrs. His shoulder is still flexing, but in a slow, smooth, irregular rhythm that suggests he’s only getting himself going. Lorenz can picture it easily: rubbing his inner thighs, his lower belly, just barely teasing his fingertips beneath his boxer briefs. He’s determined to take him farther.

“It’s nothing fancy,” Lorenz demurs, even as he works a hand around the waistband of his leggings. His shirt is low enough in front to hide his erection, but at last he manages to work his legging down around his hips—an impressive feat, one-handed—and can lift the hem of his shirt.

“Oh… look at you.” Claude brings his phone a little closer to admire him, and Lorenz preens. Lately he’s begun changing out his boring, monochromatic array of boxer briefs for something a little prettier, a little more feminine. Today he’s wearing a pair of sage green panties trimmed in cream lace. They looks a little absurd, he thinks, with his cock peeking out the top and his balls nearly escaping the gusset, but from the expression on Claude’s face, it’s a good look.

“You like it?”

“I love it. Goddess, you’re so fucking hot.” Sounding breathless, Claude’s arm moves again, this time in an unmistakably rhythmic fashion. “Will you take your shirt off for me? Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Unable to keep from smirking, Lorenz tosses his phone on the bed—ignoring Claude’s dramatic cry of loss—and pulls his shirt over his head. Then he frees himself of his leggings and crawls back into bed, grabbing his phone with him as he goes. “Miss me?”

“Desperately.” The tone of his voice is joking, but look on his face is not. Claude’s eyes flutter shut and Lorenz wonders what he’s doing.

It occurs to him suddenly that he can just ask. So he does. “How are you touching yourself?”

Claude makes a strangled sound in his throat. “Jerking myself off,” he admits, lips parted between laughter and need. “Want to see?”

Lorenz swallows thickly. “Please.”

The camera shakes a bit, and then the view is swapped around, and he can see down Claude’s belly to where his hand works between his thighs. He’s pushed his boxer briefs down nearly to his knees, and his first two fingers curl down to either side of his cock, moving slickly back and forth. Every downstroke curls deep between his labia, and every upstroke drags his fingertips along his hood, exposing the full length of his erection framed in raven curls. Lorenz moans and gives his cock a squeeze.

“Wish I could fuck you right now,” Claude gasps, his voice hoarser and sexier for being disembodied. “Pull those panties aside and fuck your tight hole. _Fuck_.”

Warm, gooey heat floods Lorenz’s pelvis, and he fumbles in the nightstand for lube. “Do it then,” he challenges. He squirts a bit into his hand, close enough to the speaker that Claude can hear it, and rubs over his hole until he can push a finger inside. “Fuck me, Claude, come on. I know you can go harder than that.”

Claude lets out a sharp cry and jerks his hand faster. He’s holding his phone close enough that Lorenz can hear how wet he is, and it spurs him on—he pushes a second finger inside along with the first and fucks himself roughly to Claude’s rhythm, breath coming harsh as he struggles to keep up.

“Fuck!” Claude groans, and his thighs flex, muscle and tendon leaping into clear relief. His hand is nearly a blur, rubbing over his cock until he lifts his hips suddenly and the camera angle slips sideways as he comes. The screen is dark, but Lorenz can still hear the gush of ejaculate spraying the duvet, the soaking wet, sloppy movement of his hand over his cock.

Just the sound is enough. Lorenz curls his fingertips against his prostate and spasms hard, internal muscles clamping down as semen shoots over his chest and stomach. He’s moaning and whimpering, fingering himself through it, but he can hardly hear himself. All he can hear is Claude’s breathless encouragement, his _yes darling, good boy, you’re so beautiful_ , before Claude is overcome by another orgasm and a storm of cursing.

“Fuck,” Lorenz gasps at last, when he can take a full breath. He eases his fingers free and manages to hold the phone up properly again, angled to show off the cum streaking his chest and pooling in the notch of his collarbone.

“Goddess,” Claude says in agreement. Lorenz gets a nice view of the water stain darkening the bedding and Claude’s cock still red and erect before he switches the camera back to his face. He’s sweaty and flushed, lips bitten red as he smiles. “You sound so beautiful when you cum.”

“Are you going to get in trouble with housekeeping for that?” Lorenz pants.

“I’m sure they’ve seen worse. I’ll tip generously.” The view of Claude’s post-orgasmic face wobbles a bit as he—presumably—wriggles out of his underwear, then steadies again, framing Claude’s fond expression as Lorenz snatches a tissue from the bedside table and dabs cum from his chest. “Hey. Happy birthday.”

Lorenz glances at the time at the top of the screen and laughs. “Thank you.”

“Not a bad way to spend the last few minutes of thirty-four, huh?”

“Probably one of the best starts to a new year I’ve ever had,” Lorenz admits. He pitches the dirty tissue aside and flops against the pillows with a melancholic sigh. “I would’ve preferred to have you here for it, though.”

“Me too.” The smile fades from Claude’s face, replaced with remorse. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you, you don’t have to apologize.” Lorenz lets his expression go dark. “It’s bloody Acheron who should apologize for depriving me of my husband’s company on my birthday.”

Claude’s screen, and by extension Claude himself, shakes with laughter. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message when I see him.”

“Yes, do.” Lorenz muffles a yawn behind his hand, but Claude still catches it.

“It’s midnight for you, huh. Wayyyyyy past your bedtime.”

“I’m an adult,” Lorenz tuts. “I don’t _have_ a bedtime.”

“Uh-huh. I don’t mind letting you go, you know. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

Lorenz sighs. “Are you truly sending me off to sleep, or are you trying to avoid the conversation I emailed you about having?”

“Ah. That.” Claude can’t quite hide the guilty smile from his face, and Lorenz abruptly longs to have him here, to tuck his hair behind his ear and kiss him, to tease him for thinking he could keep Lorenz in the dark. “We can talk about it, if you want.”

Lorenz nods, gathering his courage and the words he’d carefully practiced earlier, so as not to miss anything or put undue pressure on his husband to respond. “I just wanted to say,” he begins, “I’m not sure if it was just a joke, or something more. But if it wasn’t just a joke, I’m open to discussing it further, if and when you’re ready. That’s all.”

Claude blinks at him, and the faint tension that had been gathering around his eyes melts away into an easy smile. “Wait, hang on. The _conversation_ you wanted to have was just you telling me you were okay with having a conversation?”

“Well… yes.” Lorenz meets his eyes through the camera. “It’s a rather complicated, important topic. I’m not sure it’s the sort of thing one talks about over the phone.”

“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging, by the way,” Claude says gently, seemingly unbothered by the fact that neither of them has addressed what _topic_ is directly. “Or drop it and run, rather. It was just… poor timing.”

“I know. I know how you are when you first wake up.”

“Guilty as charged.” Claude grins. “Yeah, um. We can talk more about it later. It’s—it wasn’t entirely a joke, but I also haven’t really given it extensive thought yet. It was more of a… a whim. So. We can talk about it and decide if we want it to be more than a whim, or just an idle thought for later.”

“Okay.” A little thrill zings through him at those words. _More than a whim._ Best not to admit he’s been thinking about it nonstop for two days, then. Ever since Claude got on a plane and left him wondering what it would be like to be called _Mom_. A thousand questions rise up in him suddenly, but he swallows them down. _Later. Later. In person,_ he reminds himself.

“Okay.” Claude turns his head slightly, but can’t quite hide the yawn that overtakes him as he sinks back into the pillow. “I should take a shower before I fall asleep like this.”

“Yes, do that.” Lorenz gathers his wits about him and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Text me when you wake up and we can have breakfast together.”

“Sounds perfect.” Claude regards him through the phone for a moment, and smiles. “Goodnight, darling. Happy birthday.”

“Goodnight.” Lorenz’s thumb hovers over the _end call_ button. “I love you.”

He waits for Claude to return the sentiment, voice fuzzy and well-worn with exhaustion and orgasm, before hanging up. And then he plugs in his phone and forces himself to turn it off rather than research adoption procedures in the Leicester Alliance for three more hours, just out of idle curiosity.

><

[

From: Alliance Airlines LTD

To: ClaudeVRiegan@roundtable.fl

Subject: Ticket Purchase/Refund Receipt - Alliance Air

Body: Mr. von Riegan, Thank you for flying Alliance Air! We know you have options when it comes to transcontinental travel, and we appreciate you choosing us to get you to your destination.

Your tickets for Garland Moon 19 have been refunded. Attached to this email you will find your new tickets for Garland Moon 13. Priority boarding begins at 4:30 AM at Gate C24. Your flight departs at 5:00 AM and lands in Derdriu International Airport at 3:45 PM at Gate A12.

To access your tickets, simply save them to your phone using this link. You can also log into your Alliance Air account and print them out at home. To change your seating arrangements, call +014658395 toll free up to 12 hours before your departure time. To request special services such as dietary needs, log into your Alliance Air account to place your request, or speak to the gate attendant upon arrival.

Looking for transportation and lodging in Derdriu? Our partners at Gilded Travel Agency are happy to book for you. Follow this link to quickly find the best options for your travel needs.

Thank you for flying Alliance Air! We look forward to serving you.

]

Claude never gets tired of the view of Derdriu from the sky. He leans forward in his seat to peer out the window as the city grows closer: the towering skyscrapers of the financial district, the lively pier with its summer carnival in full swing, the white arcing beaches, the weathered stone of the Old Town. The water sparkles like champagne across the harbor to the mouth of the Derdriatic Sea, white caps forming further out where colorful sails dot the dark water.

He elbows the woman at his side as the intercom crackles to life with another announcement. “Wake up, Hil. Tray tables away.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She rubs her eyes and does as she’s told, batting a sugary-sweet smile at the flight attendant who walks by a moment later. As soon as they pass, she slumps back in her seat and groans. “I’m never going to forgive you for this.”

“Sure you will.” Claude surreptitiously checks his phone, which _is_ in airplane mode, thank you very much. 3:30, just ahead of schedule. With any luck, he’ll be able to rush home and shower off the funk of the plane before heading out to the venue Igntaz had texted him earlier. “Especially if I buy you something nice from Artiso’s.”

“You’re only going to Aristo’s to get Lorenz something,” Hilda points out, but she does sound marginally less hacked off at him.

“ _And_ you. As a thank you, for putting up with me.” He smacks a kiss to her cheek, which she rubs off immediately, glaring. “I appreciate you, Hil.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’d be lost without me.”

The landing is smooth, but customs takes a little longer than he’d like. By the time he’s sliding into the car, greeting Raphael as he heft their luggage effortlessly into the back, it’s almost 4:30. He gives up, downloading Aristo’s app on mobile data and plugging in his order. A dozen macarons, four rose, four lavender, and four lemon, and Hilda’s order: a red velvet cupcake and a box of hand-poured chocolates.

“The _good_ one,” she emphasizes, peering over his shoulder. “No nuts.”

By five o’clock he’s picked up the order and is bidding Hilda and Raph farewell at the door, juggling luggage and pastries and keys as he lets himself inside. The door shuts behind him and he stands there quietly for a moment, just breathing it in.

_Home at last._

Light streams through the windows from the back garden, coaxing him further into the townhouse. It looks so different from back when he and Lorenz had first started dating—or pretending to date, rather. A year after their wedding, the neighboring townhouse had gone up for sale, and Lorenz had sold his ridiculously expensive penthouse and knocked down the walls between them to form one larger home right on the cusp of Old Derdriu and the government district.

The back garden has been extended to include a small vegetable garden, and instead of a solid wall to the left, an archway opens beneath the stairs onto a bright first-floor office and lounge space. Upstairs the master bedroom is much the same, but the ensuite is larger—sorely needed, to accommodate Lorenz’s elaborate routine—and now there is one large office full of sunlight and two guest rooms on the far side whenever family visits. Or, he thinks now, for when they start having kids.

Claude wanders through the archway, setting his gifts on the coffee table, and nips upstairs for a shower. He can feel the weariness hooking itself into his bones, so he washes as quickly and efficiently as possible, daydreaming about a quick cup of coffee before heading out.

He checks his phone as he towels off and finds it blank. Strange—Ignatz had said he would text when they arrived at the venue. Well, maybe he has a few extra minutes, then. He hops into fresh underwear and sits on the edge of the bed to contemplate his outfit.

Five minutes later he’s flat on his back and snoring, phone still quietly in airplane mode beside him.

><

[

_5:30 Hey Claude, are you on your way? We’re about to do toasts._

_5:45 We’ll give it fifteen more minutes, but Marianne thinks we should do it soon._

_6:03 We went ahead and did toasts, but if you get here by seven you’ll be on time for dessert!_

_7:30 Hilda said you landed four hours ago? She’s going to come by your place and check up on you._

_8:04 Hey Claude, Ignatz again. The party is still in full swing, if you want to come by you’re more than welcome. I’m sure Lorenz would appreciate it!_

_8:30 Hey Hilda, did you swing by Claude’s place? I’m a little worried._

_9:23 He was **asleep?** Wait I don’t even see Lorenz. Let me see if I can find him._

_9:24 Lorenz, Igntaz here. Just checking in, I haven’t seen you in a little while. Did you slip out for some fresh air?_

_9:30 Hilda, I think Lorenz might have gone home. Marianne said he slipped out with a quick thank you. Can’t believe I didn’t see him go. Maybe they’ll end up in the same place after all. Thanks for your help._

]

It’s a very nice party, all told. Ignatz starts them off at his apartment, where they enjoy finger foods made by his four-star chef boyfriend and cocktails mixed by whoever is closest to the drinks cart when someone gets thirsty. Then they head out to dinner at a rooftop venue with lights strung everywhere and a private corner all to themselves. Marianne is in town for the event, and Lysithea gushes over his outfit—a slinky black dress with a slit up the thigh and a plunging V-neck that shows off his silver crescent-moon jewelry—and Lorenz really, truly does enjoy himself.

It’s just… well. It’s just that this is clearly at least half engineered to be a distraction from his husband’s absence, and that makes him miss him all the more. He doesn’t hold a grudge at _all_ , he’s proud that Claude was chosen to represent the Alliance’s fiscal interests in the Empire, and he isn’t sad that he wasn’t able to go with him due to his responsibilities at work (it turns out that preparing to hand over the CEO position in favor of pursuing his own entrepreneurial goals is more hands-on than he had realized). It’s just that Claude isn’t here, and he wishes, like a child wishing on a star, that he were.

He doesn’t even particularly feel like drinking, so when nine o’clock rolls around and he’s the most sober one present, he slips away from the drunken merriment to sip some ice water by himself in a quiet corner of the veranda. The air is chilly despite the time of year, and he finds himself longing for a warm suit jacket to drape over his shoulders, smelling of cardamom and good whiskey.

He checks his phone. The battery is low, so he’s been trying to conserve, but it’s hard not to check every few minutes. Claude had said he’d call once talks were done for the day. By his count, he should be free soon. Still nothing.

Behind him something crashes and there’s a swell of laughter and smothered, goodnatured apologies from Leonie. He slips his phone into his bag and braces his hands against the railing, looking out over the city. The party is fun—it _was_ fun. But he’s thirty-five years old, dammit, and if he wants to go home and put on his husband’s old tee shirt and snuggle in front of the TV with a movie and some wine, that’s his right as an adult.

Slipping away from the party is easier than expected. He catches Marianne on the way out, kissing her cheek and asking her to pass his thanks and well-wishes on to the others. Then he hails a cab and is on the way home in just a few minutes, slipping off his heels to massage his feet with quiet relief.

He walks across the sidewalk and up the steps to the front door still barefoot, and lets himself in quietly. And pauses. The hall light is on, which is strange. He puts down his purse and advances through to the living area, shoes in hand heel-first, just in case. But nothing is misplaced or broken, and their burglar alarm is unarmed, which means someone with a code has been here recently.

Through the archway he spies an addition to the otherwise clean coffee table, and he lets his guard down a little more. A box from Aristo’s—with his favorite flavors of macaron, no less! There’s no card, but presumably Claude had had Raphael or Shamir pick them up and drop them off. Mystery solved. He pops a rose macaron into his mouth whole and selects a lemon before flopping onto the couch with a sigh. _How sweet._

Then his eyes land on something he hadn’t noticed before. Tucked up against the alcove leading to the kitchen is Claude’s luggage bag. The very same one he’d taken with him to Enbarr.

Lorenz’s heart leaps, and so do his feet, levering him upright in an instant for the stairs. He takes them two at a time and nearly chokes on his lemon macaron as he enters the master bedroom.

Claude. In bed, legs hanging off the end, arms outstretched. Snoring. Phone beside him. Lorenz checks it discreetly and turns off airplane mode. Immediately a flood of texts come surging in, mostly from Ignatz, but some from Hilda, demanding where he was and whether he was going to show up to the party or not.

“Oh you silly man,” Lorenz sighs, putting it aside. He leans over his husband, so handsome despite the stress lines around his eyes and the tired pull of his mouth even in sleep. Lorenz carefully tucks a strand of hair away from his brow and kisses his temple. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Claude makes a grumbly waking-up noise, eyes blinking open blearily. “Wh… Lor… _fuck_!” He rockets upright, nearly clocking their heads together, and looks around frantically. “Shit! Fuck, what time is it? I was supposed to—”

“Come to the party?” Lorenz finishes for him, laughing. “Clearly you were worn out from the flight. How on earth did you manage it? I thought you were supposed to come back at the end of the week.”

“Change of plans.” Giving up on finding his phone, Claude slumps forward, resting his forehead on Lorenz’s shoulder and his hand on his waist. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to show up and surprise you.”

“You _did_ surprise me,” Lorenz soothes. He strokes Claude’s hair and smiles at the touch of lips against his throat. “I am thoroughly and delightedly surprised, my love.”

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, by the way. Wow.” Claude sits back a little, enough to get both hands around Lorenz’s waist and eye him up and down. Lorenz tucks his calves together, trying to hide his pinched and reddened feet from view.

“I _was_ wearing heels, before.”

“Where are they now?” Claude asks, scooting closer.

“Downstairs. They were murder on my feet.”

“Mmm. Let me help you with that.”

Lorenz makes a muffles yelp of surprise as Claude hauls him fully onto the mattress, manipulating his weight effortlessly. “Claude! You don’t have to do that, I—ooh, that’s nice.”

Claude digs his thumb into the aching arch of his foot, grinning. “It’s the least I can do, considering I missed your whole damn birthday party like a cad. Some kind of husband I am.”

“You’re a perfect husband,” Lorenz gasps, “and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. _Oof_.” He leans back against the pillows, melting into the firm, brusque pressure of Claude’s hands. Once his arches have been soothed, Claude gently rolls his ankles back and forth, then massages his calves until his legs feel like rubber and a tent is forming in his dress. Claude slides a hand up his thigh, following the slit in his skirt, and crows to find lace beneath instead of nylon.

“No compression shorts today?”

“I wasn’t—mmh—I wasn’t expecting to get hard tonight.” Lorenz chokes as Claude rubs a hand over his erection, fighting its way free of his high-waisted lace panties. “Claude—wait.”

Claude curls his hand back, looking up at him through dark lashes. “Yes?”

“I… come here, please. Kiss me.”

He grins. “With _pleasure_.”

In a moment Claude has crawled up the bed and is kissing him, one elbow bracing his weight and the opposite hand cradling Lorenz’s jaw. He pets his hair, his throat, follows the delicate silver chain of his necklace with blunt fingers until he can roll a nipple between them through his dress. Lorenz shivers and widens his legs, inviting Claude closer.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” Claude whispers again, despite Lorenz’s ragged assurances. “And I’m sorry I missed your birthday—it is unconscionable, truly—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Lorenz interrupts, shoving a hand down his husband’s pants. “You’re here now, and it’s still my birthday. How did you get out of the rest of the talks, anyway?”

“I begged Ferdinand very nicely. Well. Not _this_ nicely.” Claude gives his cock a squeeze and Lorenz chokes and sputters with indecent laughter. “And Acheron was magically feeling _much_ better today, so he’ll be on the redeye tonight to take over the rest of the week.” He tilts his hips, inviting Lorenz to shove his trousers down around his hips. “Enough talking about work. I want to sit on your cock now, that okay with you?”

“ _Please_.” Lorenz pulls Claude’s boxer briefs down with shaking hands, eyes never leaving his face. “Condom?”

Claude pauses for a split second. It doesn’t really matter, apart from the mess—he’s had an IUD for as long as they’ve been married—but there’s a symbolism to it that lends the question weight. After a moment, Claude shakes his head. “Not tonight. I want to feel you.” He gives a meaningful squeeze. “ _All_ of you.”

Which is how Lorenz finds himself flat on his back, dress pushed up to his waist as his husband rides him for all he’s worth. He feels like he’s caught up in a maelstrom. All he can feel, smell, taste, touch is Claude, in him and around him and on top of him until he’s breathless.

He doesn’t last very long. Claude is too all-encompassing, their fingers laced together over his head, Claude’s tongue in his mouth as his hips rock in his lap. Lorenz comes like that, being kissed, being held. Being _taken_. Claude slows his rhythm just a little, humming little encouragements, then yelling out with joyful surprise as Lorenz rubs him with the heel of his palm, cock still half-hard inside him, slick and leaking.

“I love you,” Claude gasps when he finally falls forward, nuzzling up under Lorenz’s jaw. His broad hand pushes up under his dress, fondling his waist, the flex of his ribs. “Gods, I love you so much.”

Lorenz wants to reply in kind, but he’s too full—of emotion, of endorphins, of the breath he’s been holding on and off for the last three days, ever since Claude hinted at starting a family together. Instead he brings Claude’s left hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles, the ring, letting the warm metal rest against his lips.

“Happy birthday,” Claude adds after a few minutes of just lying and breathing together. He leans up to kiss him, and Lorenz kisses back with a soft sound of relief and wanting. “I hope it was a good one.”

“It was wonderful.” Lorenz brushes his thumbs over his beard, smiling when they catch on Claude’s deep dimples. “ _You_ are wonderful. Thank you for coming home. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to.” Another kiss, and Claude rolls off him to snuggle up against his side instead. “I really am sorry I missed the party. Especially because you look fucking hot in that outfit.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Lorenz points out, sliding his underwear the rest of the way down his legs and kicking them into the hamper. He turns the silver crescent moon over in his hands before draping the necklace safely out of the way. “Especially considering I didn’t wear my compression shorts. I would have embarrassed myself thoroughly before the evening’s end, no doubt.” He accepts the hand Claude extends toward him, kissing the fingertips before letting them slide beneath the sleeve of his dress to begin tugging it off him. “Wait just a moment.”

Claude pauses. “Yes?”

Lorenz flushes. “Would you mind terribly if I brought the macarons upstairs? I’ve got a sudden craving.”

Claude bursts out laughing and lets the soft, stretchy fabric snap back into place. “Go right ahead, sweetheart. That’s what they’re for.”

Still blushing, Lorenz tugs his skirt down and hurries down the stairs, making a beeline for the open box of pastries. Whatever Claude says, this is the best birthday he’s had yet, and right now he can’t imagine a better one.

**Author's Note:**

> HAP BORTH KAE ILU!!


End file.
